


Fight Club

by vipertooths



Series: IT Universe [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Multi, POV Richie Tozier, Pining, Richie Tozier-centric, Romance, Slice of Life, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Texting, a leetle bit of angst i guess i cant help myself, a little bullying and homophobic language, mature conversation topics, the losers are 17 & 18, this isnt an all texting fic it goes btwn the gc and traditional storytelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipertooths/pseuds/vipertooths
Summary: bevs:not to interrupt but if you guys are done flirting in the group chat, i have a … big favor to askstandby:they are never done flirting in the group chat(AKA the losers club may be finishing school and entering adulthood but that won't keep them from their tomfoolery.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to post this all in one go but uhh i am bad at that and need encouragement to finish things lmao. not beta read, but if anyone wants to be my beta hmu on tumblr @ vipertooth
> 
> anyway hope you like this 🤪 let me know

**bevs** : i heard the boys bathroom has been shut down for the day

 **mikea** : for what?

 **bevs** : someone pissed literally all over the place

 **mikea** : every story i hear about public school sounds like a horrible joke

 **pain** : because public school IS a horrible joke

 **panic** : how are you texting and running at the same time

 **pain** : who said i'm running

 **panic:** it's track day everyone is running

 **pain** : you're not running

 **panic** : i have 'asthma' you know i'm on the bleachers

 **pain** : [image attached: richie giving the peace sign from under the bleachers]

 

"What the _fuck_?"

Eddie peers through one of the spaces and Richie pinches his nose. "Honk honk."

"What are you doing under there?"

"Not running, clearly. Pass me some chips."

Eddie sighs and straightens himself up, but dutifully passes over the chips he'd been eating.

"The ground is kind of wet under here. Do you think he'd notice an extra student up there?"

"Unless he's suddenly gone blind? Yes. You're kind of hard to miss."

Richie eyes the PE teacher watching the track and ducks out from under the bleachers, scrambling up next to Eddie and lying down by his feet. Eddie levels him with an unimpressed look before taking a picture, presumably to send to the group.

He stuffs a few more chips in his mouth and when he chokes, Eddie takes a picture of that too.

"You're a dumbass."

"Be gay," he wheezes. "Do crime."

Eddie hands him a water bottle and he takes care to sit up a bit before taking a drink so he doesn't choke on that too.

"Is this really worth it just to skip running the track a few times?"

"Completely." He settles back down and stares up at the sky. "That cloud looks like an angry old lady."

Eddie leans back and tries to follow his gaze. "Where?"

"Next to the long wispy one."

"Don't see it. You sure your glasses aren't just smudged?"

" _Yes_ , I'm sure." Surreptitiously, he pulls his glasses off and wipes them with his shirt. He hears an amused snort from Eddie but chooses to ignore it. "Maybe _you_ need glasses."

Eddie pulls his feet up and lays parallel to Richie, then scooches down until they're side by side. "Maybe I just have to look at it from your angle."

"Do you see it yet?"

"Nope."

Richie turns from the sky to Eddie, gaze raking over his parted lips, the swoop of his nose, his wide eyes. _Cute_ was the word that came to mind. Richie didn't have many qualms about speaking his mind, would usually reach over and pinch Eddie's cheek and say exactly what he thought. He's learned you could get away with a lot of honesty if you just exaggerated some. This time though, he just wants to admire.

A cool breeze sweeps by and Eddie shuts his eyes, a small smile on his lips. "It's nice out today."

Richie hums, watching the way the wind rustles his friend's hair. He resists the urge to run a hand through it in a similar fashion even though he knows Eddie probably wouldn't mind.

"If you could choose, what would you want your soul inscription to say?"

"Something about my perfect ass," he supplies automatically.

"It's more likely to be about you _being_ an ass."

It wouldn't, they both knew, because he's definitely heard that more times than he can count and soul inscriptions are always unique, something the person hasn't ever heard before. It's one of the few known facts about them. No one's been able to figure out why they appear when they do or why they appear at all. Some say God, some say magic, some say a government conspiracy meant to be a subtle turn back to eugenics.

Richie isn't completely sure what he believes yet. Mostly he's just waiting for the damn thing to show up already; he'll probably know right then if it's legit or not. The only soulmate he could imagine being his is lying right next to him. He's been waiting for two years now for an inscription to show up so Eddie could see it too. It's not that he's a _coward_ , but if Eddie _did_ want to date him and then turned out not to be his soulmate, he'd be crushed. Well, he'd be crushed about Eddie not being his soulmate no matter what, but at least it wouldn't hurt as much if they were only ever friends anyway.

Eddie answers his own question after a minute. "I want mine to be something romantic."

"Your laugh is the best thing I've ever heard," Richie says, only half-joking. "There's whole galaxies in your eyes. All of me loves all of you."

"Oh my god, shut up. Was that last one song lyrics?"

"John Legend, baby." He finger guns, not that Eddie even sees it. After a moment, he adds, "I don't really care what mine says."

Finally, Eddie opens his eyes and turns to look down at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things."

"What, like you don't believe in soulmates?"

He shakes his head. "It's not that. It's just...doesn't it matter more who it comes from rather than what it says? I don't know, mine could be something about onions and peanut butter and I'd still be happy just to have it." Well, he'd still be happy if it were Eddie's, but he isn't about to say that.

Eddie stares at him for a long time, long enough that he's tempted to pull a funny face. He swallows the discomfort and stays silent for once, mostly because he's afraid if he starts talking again he's going to put his foot in his mouth and ruin the moment.

"You know, Richie, past all the bluff and bluster, you're kind of secretly romantic."

"Well, don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold."

The way Eddie is looking at him all softly is making heat climb up his neck and he can't really deal with it, so he shifts his gaze back to the sky. He can feel the stare on his face for a little while longer before Eddie goes back to cloud-watching too.

"The angry lady turned into a deformed dinosaur," he comments, mostly to himself.

"I see it."

"Oh, _that_ you see?"

"The one over there looks like a whale." Eddie lifts an arm and points to a frumpy looking whale that the wind is quickly transforming into something else entirely.

"Yeah, and that one over there looks like your mom." He points to a random cloud and Eddie glares at him.

"Shut up, Richie."

Before he can follow up with something better, the whistle blows and he jolts.

"He's gathering the class, you've got like fifteen seconds before he starts walking this way."

He clambers off the bleachers and in his haste to get under them, smacks his head on hard metal. He swears and presses a hand to his forehead as he ducks back into his hiding spot.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he grunts, even though he's a little worried he gave himself a concussion. "Being tall is a dangerous thing."

"The only thing about you that's dangerous is how fucking dumb you are."

"Adding insult to injury? You're so cold, Eds."

He doesn't get to hear the response to the hated, beloved nickname as the class gets closer, loud and talkative. He waits for his moment and slips out into the group, earning a few looks, but thankfully nobody rats him out.

Eddie joins him, eyes going round. "Holy shit, Richie, how hard did you hit your head?"

"Is it bad?" He prods at the spot and winces.

"You're going to have a huge bruise across your forehead by tomorrow."

"At least I didn't crack my skull."

"It's too thick to crack."

"It's not the only thing on me that's thick." He waggles his eyebrows and Eddie snaps a picture of him.

 

 **panic** : [image attached: richie making a suggestive face, red welt across his forehead]

 **panic** : even grievous injury doesn't stop him from being a greasy bastard

 **bevs** : i am not at all surprised

 **mikea** : seconded


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first few lines of chat is actually pulled from a real life conversation i was part of. immediately after the conversation i was like "that had big richie energy"

**pain** : i'm bored

 **standby** : then go entertain yourself

 **pain** : i already jerked off a bunch today, it got boring.

 **standby** : switch hands

 **pain** : sure who wants to switch with me? ;)

 **panic** : nobody wants to touch your dick. it's probably diseased.

 **pain** : your mom wasn't complaining last night

 **panic** : fucking disgusting…

 **billbo** : guys …. it's 2am

 **pain** : well, i say, holmes, you've done it again!

 **billbo** : i'm too young to go to jail for murder, richie

 **pain** : anyone wanna meet at the quarry?

 **billbo** : ITS 2AM

 **bev** : i'm game

 **billbo** : oh my god

 **pain** : eds?

 **panic** : i'm putting on my shoes.

 **pain** : i love you

 **pain** : urine?

 **standby** : i will literally pay bill to end you

 **bevs** : don't think you'd even have to pay

 **pain** : was that a no?

 **standby** : i don't want to go alone…

 **pain** : it's no big

 **billbo** : get ready stan i'll meet you at your place, we can go together

 **pain** : billiam!! you're coming!! you DO care!

 **billbo** : well i can't murder you from my bedroom

 **standby** : i'll bring popcorn

 **panic** : sounds good

 **pain** : :( betrayal

 **handscome** : hoi

 **handscome** : wejre merting?

 **handscome** : hwtat tinem is it

 **panic** : was that english

 **billbo** : 2am

 **bevs** : go back to sleep

 **handscome** : okk

 

Richie is just out the door when his phone starts ringing. The screen shows the picture of Eddie he'd taken while his friend was mid-rant. Richie doesn't really remember what he was ranting about at the time, but even a year later, the picture is near and dear to him.

He holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he grabs his bike, putting on a seductive voice to answer. "Hello and welcome to 1-800-hot-stuf. My name's Richie and I'm here to make your dreams come true."

Eddie fake gags on the other side of the line. "More like 1-800-up-chuck."

"You can pretend you aren't swayed by my sultry tone," he says as he switches the phone back to his hand and starts pedaling, "but I know the truth."

"Like you knew how to cook breakfast last weekend?"

"Listen, making pancakes is harder than it seems."

Eddie scoffs. "It's really not."

"Did you call me just to reject my offer of a good time and insult my cooking?"

"Not _just_. There's plenty of other things to insult."

They bicker until they're both at the quarry and Richie's muscles are sore from holding his phone up. Eddie has one of those plastic phone holders that you velcro strap around your arm, because of course he does, so he's suffered no similar fate.

They sit down a few feet from the water with the detachable lantern that Eddie keeps on the front of his bike. It comes in handy more often than one might expect.

"If I feel any bugs crawl on me, I will freak out."

Richie smirks and ghosts a fingertip along Eddie's bare calf, making him yelp and yank his leg away, much to Richie's delight.

"You fucking asshole! If this is the thanks I get for coming out here in the middle of the night, I'm leaving."

Richie grabs hold of him, still laughing, and pulls him close. "You make it too easy!"

"You're a menace. A child. Absolutely immature." He continues to rant as he tries fruitlessly to escape Richie's grasp, but finally gives up and lets himself be apology hugged.

"See, that's not so bad, is it?"

"What are your arms so long for anyway?" he grumbles into Richie's chest.

Richie grins down at him. "All the better to hold you with, my dear."

"Is that Thing 1 and Thing 2 I see?" Beverly calls and Richie plants his chin on the top of Eddie's head to watch her approach. There's a grunt of displeasure beneath him, but he's pretty sure that's because of Bev; Eddie hates Cat in the Hat.

"Can you let go of me now?"

He sighs dramatically and lets his friend go, though Eddie doesn't go very far. Their fingers brush occasionally as they talk with Beverly and wait for Stan and Bill to show up, though the feeling barely registers for how normal it is. He wonders how normal it would be to hold hands, if Eddie would say anything. He's too chicken shit to try. 

 _Another night_ , he thinks. _Another time._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of bullying in this chap

**mikea** : how was the quarry last night? would’ve come but i was sleeping

 **kill bill** : as one should be at 2am

 **pain** : i'll sleep when i’m dead

 **mikea** : good to see richie is still alive

 **pain** : at least someone appreciates me!

 **bevs** : wish you could’ve come, mike. it was fun :)

 **panic** : stanley dared richie to skinny dip and the dumbass actually did it

 **mikea** : but the water is still so cold!

 **pain** : i had mrs kaspbrak to heat me up after ;)

 **panic** : can you shut the fuck up about my mom

 **kill bill** : yeah especially when it was eddie that stopped you from becoming hypothermic

 **bevs** : [image attached: richie and eddie cuddling for warmth]

 **mikea** : that's sweet :’)

 **handscome** : eddie looks so mad

 **panic** : i was!

 **standby** : eddie’s second fanny pack is for carrying around richie’s last brain cell

 **bevs** : djfjksjfj

 **panic** : bold of you to assume he ever HAD a brain cell

 **bevs** : JFJAHDJS

 **pain** : this is cyberbullying. i'm going back to sleep.

 

Richie doesn't go back to sleep, or rather Eddie doesn't _let_ him because, "It's time to get up; it's already past _noon,_ " and, "Laws are just concepts too, Richie, but we can't always ignore them." That's the thanks he gets for letting a friend sleep over.

He's not too bothered though, since Eddie offers to buy them food. They end up in the nearest diner ordering breakfast for lunch and drowning their food in syrup.

"What's one thing you wish you hated but actually don't?" he asks, cutting Eddie off in the middle of a rant about him taking up too much of the leg room under the table.

Eddie huffs, but gives the question its due diligence and mulls over an answer. "Do people count?"

"Nope."

"Harry Potter."

"What? _Why_?"

"There's so many problems with it! And did you _read_ The Cursed Child?"

"Okay," he says, waving a sausage around on his fork, "I'm offended by the implication that I read."

"What about reading offends you so much?"

He shrugs. "Makes me feel I'm missing out on doing things in the real world."

Eddie doesn't reply, opting instead to pull out his camera, the pastel polaroid one he'd spent one of his summer paychecks on. He carries the thing around with him everywhere.

Richie makes a face for the first picture and then goes back to eating. Eddie likes candid photos more than posed ones; his room is covered in them. All of the losers have at least a couple of his photos that he'd given to them.

The camera flashes three times over the next few minutes and is tucked away again so he can finish eating. Eventually, their glasses run empty and they're just sitting in the booth talking. There's an end of year english project coming up where they will get assigned a random subject to write about and they discuss which would be the best and worst to get.

They've both just agreed that anything revolving around a historical figure would blow when Henry Bowers and his lackeys walk through the door. They graduated last year, but he's sure they haven't learned a thing since 6th grade--unless you count learning how to be psychopathic bastards.

"Homos on a date again," Henry mocks, and Victor purposefully knocks the syrup over onto Eddie's lap as they pass.

Once, Richie would've let it slide. He would've just grit his teeth and bared it because there was nothing else to do. But he's not a gangly thirteen year old anymore. No, he's a gangly almost eighteen year old and that makes all the difference.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

They turn in synchronicity, as do the few other customers and workers in the diner.

The look on Henry's face is murderous, but that's not really anything new. "What did you just say?"

"Richie," Eddie warns, but he's already pushing himself out of the booth and standing at his full height.

"I said, 'What the _fuck_ is your problem?'"

"I'm looking at it." Henry punctuates the sentence with a hard shove that makes him stumble back into the table.

"The three of you, out," the woman working the front counter says crisply. "Or I'll call the police."

Henry gives him another shove for good measure and bitches about how the diner has shit food anyway as the three make a u-turn and head back out the door.

"Thanks, Anne," Eddie says, placing a sticky ball of napkins on the table and sliding out of the booth. Eddie worked here last summer and endeared himself to the staff. Plus, the diner had never been as clean as when he was on the job.

"No problem, honey. Count your food on the house."

"You could've started a fight," he says to Richie as he pulls out cash and leaves it on the table anyway.

Richie shrugs and lets Eddie lead them through the employee door in the back to avoid Bowers. "They're fucking assholes."

"You don't have to tell _me_ twice." He pulls at his shirt, which clings wetly to the bottom of his stomach. "Ugh, this is gross."

"To your house?"

"Yours is closer, but I'm already wearing the clothes I had there. Do you have anything clean I can wear?"

Richie's place _is_ technically closer, but it's not like Derry is The Big Apple. On a normal day, Eddie would have no problem just heading home. Plus, he hates when he has to wear Richie's clothes, what with their size difference. He must be avoiding his mom again, Richie thinks, not that anyone would blame him. "Definitely maybe, probably not."

"How are you ever going to be a functioning adult if you won't even wash your laundry?"

"Well, I'll have you for that once we move in together." Richie bumps his shoulder lightly and he scoffs.

"One, why would I want to live with you? Stan is definitely my first choice. Two, if you think I'd spend my time cleaning up after you, then you clearly hit your head in PE too hard last week."

"One, _ouch_ , but also valid. Two, those bleachers had it out for me and I will not be victim shamed."

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. "That's what you get for skipping track just because you wanted to be lazy."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Famous last words."

Richie thinks they'd be pretty great last words, actually. He should put it in his will that those are the only words he wants on his headstone. When do adults decide to make wills anyway?

He spots a rock in the middle of the sidewalk and kicks it ahead, starting a wordless game between him and Eddie. They manage to keep it in play all the way to his house, which is like a new record. (Usually someone will kick it into the road or into a bush and they'll be too lazy to go retrieve it.)

"Do you think we'll get boring as adults?" he asks suddenly.

Eddie opens the front door and shrugs. "You've been accusing me of being boring for years."

"But I don't mean it, Spagheddie."

"That's not my name."

He sighs and follows Eddie upstairs, where they scour the drawers and closet for something wearable. Eddie strips to his briefs in the middle of the bedroom and _then_ goes to the bathroom to wash himself off. When he comes back out, it's in a pair of shorts rolled at the waist that he pulls a baggy shirt over. Richie likes the way his shirts look on Eddie, has for a long time, even before he realized it.

Eddie grumbles something about Richie being _lanky_ as he grabs his syrup-doused clothes and tosses them into an overflowing hamper. "Wash your clothes, man."

Richie waves away the demand and sits in front of his TV. "Sure thing, Eds. After this game."

"Don't call me Eds."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to give eddie a polaroid camera okay i just wanted to live vicariously through him and also the losers club deserves to have a bunch of photos of each other  
> mayhaps one day i will draw out some of the pics


	4. Chapter 4

**standby** : i was enjoying my day…

 **bevs** : uh oh

 **standby** : eating some blintzes…

 **bevs** : tell me more

 **standby** : and i dripped fruit topping on my shirt…

 **mikea** : the new one?

 **standby** : yes. thank you for helping me pick it out but now it's got ugly red stains on it and is going in the trash.

 **kill bill** : say ah, richie

 **panic** : he doesn't eat trash, he just spews it

 **kill bill** : doesn't eat trash? he ate frosted mini wheats with mustard yesterday

 **pain** : you dared me to!

 **kill bill** : i dared you to eat ONE. the seven after that were your choice.

 **panic** : so this is what you guys do when you're alone together...

 **bevs** : are you surprised?

 **panic** : not at all

 **standby** : [image attached: stanley's shirt in a garbage can]

 **mikea** : he was taken from us too soon

 **bevs** : rip in peace

 **pain** : where was this sympathy when i accidentally spilled my entire packet of fun dip down my shirt

 **standby** : that didn't ruin your shirt

 **pain** : yeah but i lost my fun dip!

 **panic** : why would you expect pity after sending us a picture of your chest with the text "look at those sweet tiddies"

 **pain** : it was the first thought that came to my mind :/

 **mikea** : what even are you

 **pain** : a living shitpost

 **handscome** : what was your second thought?

 **pain** : sorry i am limited to one thought a day

 **kill bill** : that explains so much

 **pain** : i just want to live my life as a garbage cryptid hanging out in questionable places stop trying to make me think

 

 _It would be easier to be a cryptid_ , Richie thinks, not for the first time, as he opens Google Docs to start on his end of year paper. He'd been mulling over the subject since he'd plucked the paper out of Mr. Graham's hat at the end of English class that day.

Mr. Graham had read it over his shoulder as he opened it up and gave him a single pat on the shoulder. "I look forward to your paper, Richard."

Richie knew it wasn't an exaggeration. He wasn't the best writer in school by far, but Mr. Graham always put notes on his assignments about what a great  _voice_ he had. Couple that with some proof-reading by Bill and he usually passed his writing assignments with flying colors. He passes most everything with flying colors, really.

Despite his claims of limited thought capacity and a refusal to read almost anything outside of school, Richie will be closing out his graduating year with an A average, like he had last year and the year before and the year before. He's lucky in that regard, he guesses, for being good at the things you have to be good at to get those grades. It's not as if he studies constantly or spends very much time thinking about what he's learned in school when he isn't _in_ school.

 _You're smart_ , Eddie said to him once. That was the word he was looking for, so he was told. _You're really smart, Richie. You don't give yourself enough credit._

 _Neither do you,_ he'd said, because it was true.

Eddie asked him to clarify.

_You're stronger than you know. Way more sane than I'd be in your position. And you don't… You don't pretend to be anyone other than who you are. It's brave._

It was said less to Eddie and more to the ceiling, as most things that carried weight were said at a sleepover. You couldn't just look someone in the eye late at night with only the sound of grasshoppers and their breaths filling the room and tell them something like that. Not seriously, not without laughing it off or doing a stupid voice, not without being The Great Pretender that Richie was— _is_ —and making it into a joke.

He shakes the thought and stares at the blank document on his screen, the slip of paper from Mr. Graham discarded to the side. It seems to mock him with its big, black letters scrawled on with sharpie: HOW TO COPE WITH UNPLEASANT TRUTHS.

There are so many unpleasant truths rattling around behind his ribs that one might think he'd be an expert in this subject. It's the coping part that's throwing him for a loop. Mostly, he does the mental equivalent of sweeping dirt under the rug.

He sighs and considers bullshitting his way through the paper. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. But there was this distant sense of foreboding that weighed on him the closer they drew to the end of the school year, something that made him want to look his truths in the face, something that told him if he didn't do it now, he might never be able to.

So he lists them in his head, all the things he doesn't like to think about, and then he weeds out the list until he has the three most unpleasant of all.

1\. Someone else might be Eddie's soulmate.  
2\. He likes his characters more than he likes himself.   
3. The Losers Club can't stay together forever.

He makes a list on the computer too and titles it _Step-by-Step Coping_.

 **Step One** : Identify unpleasant truths.  
**Step Two** : Accept the truths you cannot change.  
**Step Three** : Cry.

He stares at it for a little while, then closes the document and opens up the contacts on his phone. His finger hovers over Beverly's face, then Stan's, before finally pressing to dial Eddie. It only rings once before Eddie picks up with a simple, "Hey."

"Hey yourself, Spaghetti Head."

A beat of silence passes. "I'm hanging up."

"No," Richie interjects, "wait, it's important."

He can practically hear eddie rolling his eyes through the phone. "Fine. What is it?"

"Do you want to hang out?"

"That's _not_ important, Richie. And I'm working on this paper. Shouldn't you be too?"

"We have weeks to work on them," he says, hoping that Eddie can sense his puppy eyes through the phone as well. "Come and entertain your most favoritest friend in the world."

Eddie goes quiet for a few long seconds and then finally cracks. "Okay, but you're buying me ice cream first."

"You're a real peach," Richie answers, voice taking on a southern drawl. "I'd be happier than a corn snake in a pool noodle to take you out, sugar."

Eddie laughs and hangs up and Richie's long forgotten his lists by the time he reaches the ice cream stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was emo hours writing this chapter. if you wanna talk about richie tozier or eddie kaspbrak or just the losers in general bls talk to me on tumblr @ vipertooth
> 
> edit: well... fuck. i meant to save this as a draft but i posted it instead im so fucking duuuuumb


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** minor spoilers for it chapter 2 ahead **
> 
> if my subs got emailed twice over this chapter... i apologize, i am just a fool

**standby** : saw two seniors get matching inscriptions today

 **eldrich garbage** : rip

 **handscome** : why rip?

 **eldrich garbage** : finding your soulmate in a town like derry … their fates of mediocrity are sealed

 **bevs** : you dont think your soulmate is in derry?

 **eldrich garbage** : thats different. me and my soulmate could never be mediocre so i dont have to worry about it.

 **tiny™️** : :eye_roll:

 **tiny™️** : what the fuck

 **tiny™️** : richie you asshole why did you change my name

 **eldrich garbage** : because we were a set and panic alone just seems sad. i can make it eds instead? :)

 **tiny™️** : i dont want to be eds either you dick

 **eldrich garbage** : someone needs a nap

 **eldrich garbage** : i could make room on my bed for you. i mean youre so tiny i would hardly notice you there anyway

 **tiny™️** : youre gonna notice my foot up your ass in a minute

 **eldrich garbage** : kinky

 **tiny™️** : i am actually begging you to stop

 **eldrich garbage** : extra kinky 

 **tiny™️** : how do i hire a hitman

 **standby** : i'll do it for free

 **eldrich garbage** : i have a better name for you after all, spaghetti man, go ahead and test it

 **angery™️** : … 

 **angery™️** : sleep with one eye open, tozier

 **eldrich**   **garbage** : :kissing_heart:

 **bevs** : not to interrupt but if you guys are done flirting in the group chat, i have a … big favor to ask

 **standby** : they are never done flirting in the group chat

 **kill bill** : whats the favor?

 **bevs** : is it possible i could stay at someone's place for a few weeks this summer? my aunt wants to go visit extended family… and i really dont want to go with her

 **mikea** : we have plenty of room on the farm, i'm pretty sure no one would mind

 **kill bill** : i’ll ask my parents too just in case

 **eldrich garbage** : i would ask mine but we dont really have the room 

 **handscome** : if all else fails, you know my mom loves having you around :)

 **bevs** : 💗💗💗💗💗 you guys are the sweetest

 

Richie rolls off his bed and plugs his phone into his radio, pressing play on his music and blasting the volume. His mom insists he's going to make himself deaf before he's out of high school, but what’s more viscerally satisfying than hearing Gerard Way scream about teenagers first thing in the morning?

After a much needed shower, he dumps his hamper of freshly washed clothes on his bed and then digs through the pile for an outfit. He settles on a pair of stressed jeans and a loose sweater over a tee, but has only just gotten on a pair of underwear when someone barges into his room.

“Ugh, put some clothes on,” Stan yells over the music, leaving Richie to wave around the t-shirt in his hand.

“What do you think I’m _doing_?” he shouts back, but is ultimately ignored. 

A few seconds later, the door is opening again, this time to reveal Eddie, who immediately crosses the room and turns down the music.

Richie rolls his eyes and finishes dressing, returning to his pile to fish out a pair of mismatched socks. 

"Why are you guys here so early?"

Eddie and Stan share a look of disbelief before turning it on Richie.

"Seriously?" Stan asks. "You forgot?"

"I knew this would happen. You can't trust _Richie_ to remember something like this. I bet he didn't even get what he was supposed to." Eddie narrows his eyes. "Did you get what you were supposed to? We all have jobs, Richie. Everyone has to do their part."

Richie stares blankly for a moment before it hits him. Ben's birthday. Fuck. Fuck, was he a bad friend? They all pretended not to remember his birthday was coming up so they could surprise him, but Richie _actually_ forgot. 

"Oh my god, you did," Stan mutters, rolling his eyes so hard he can probably see his own brain.

Richie turns to his closet and begins pulling things out of the mess and clutter until he reaches the plastic bag of decorations he'd thrown there a month ago. He holds it up triumphantly. Neither of them look relieved. 

"You're uninvited to the birthday party," Eddie says. "You're uninvited to Ben's, you're uninvited to Stan's, and you're _definitely_ uninvited to mine. If I could uninvite you from your own birthday, I would do that too."

"What's the issue? I got what you told me to!"

Stan sighs. "We told you that _Bill_ was going to buy the decorations. _You_ were supposed to get a cake."

Richie frowns. That definitely isn't how he remembers it. "We can just make it from scratch though, right?"

They all look at each other, contemplating it. 

"It can't be _that_ hard."

+

"This is awful. It looks like trash."

They stare down at their cake, which is a far cry from the store bought kind. It's lopsided, their sprinkle decorating is patchy at best, and the icing has half melted off, skewing the _happy birthday, ben!_ into something almost illegible. 

"As long as it tastes good," Eddie says, "I don't think he'll care. It's the thought that counts, right?"

"I say we just rightfully blame Richie for forgetting to buy one."

"It's not my fault," Richie whines. "I'm hard of understanding."

Stan's levels him with a cool look. "Hard of _understanding_?"

"Yeah, I can hear perfectly fine, it's just that words go in one ear, convert to Klingon, and then go out the other." It's only mostly a joke; sometimes they convert to the _wah wah wah_ s of Charlie Brown's teacher instead.

The sound of feet crunching leaves draws their attention from the table and the pitiful thing on it to the entrance of their lair. (And yeah, the rest of the losers call it a clubhouse, but Richie has taste.)  

Bill and Mike descend the ladder with their decorations and Stanley steps, maybe unconsciously, in front of their cake, like he doesn't want anyone else to see it. Fat chance of that, considering they'll all be eating it soon.

"Hey," Mike says, smiling. "You guys really did a good job in here."

Stan and Eddie's job was to clean the lair, and they'd gone above and beyond on that front. In fact, they did such a good job that he wonders if they hadn't been itching to do it for a while. In any case, it certainly looks better than it did last week, which is nothing like it looked back when Ben first introduced them to the place.

Richie wanders over to the hammock–twice replaced since the original–and lies down as Bill and Mike begin decorating. Stan offers to help, citing Richie's extra decorations, even though he's already done his part for the party. If you could call it a party. Eddie grabs two packages of balloons and joins him in the hammock, a now age old tradition and something that still sometimes makes Richie's heart beat in his throat. They're absolutely too big to be doing this and their dual use is what broke the first hammock they had but to hell if Richie was going to suggest stopping.

Eddie rips open a bag and throws it to him. "Blow."

"Right now? In front of our friends? Why, Eds, I didn't know you were such an exhibitionist."

He gets a knee to the thigh for the joke, but he can see the faint curl of Eddie's lips, so he considers it a win. 

They blow the balloons up until they're lightheaded, throwing them on the floor as they go and occassionally at each other. By the time they finish, Mike is putting up the final bit of streamer, humming something happy under his breath, while Bill and Stan have a quiet conversation in the corner. Contrary to the earlier threat, Stan doesn't lay all the blame on Richie with the cake. He only says he should have been better at it since he has more experience with cooking. Bill touches his arm and smiles, assures him that it's okay and he's positive it'll taste great, and Stan gets that pleased look that makes grown women want to coo, eyes down, small smile, a slight redness to his cheeks.

Richie glances away from the endfolding scene as Eddie begins to move around, switching his position until his chest is pressed against Richie's arm.

"Do you think Bill knows?" he whispers, and Richie is almost too focused on how close their faces are, how his chin is virtually hooked on Richie's shoulder, to respond.

"I don't know. Maybe. Might not know it's serious though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone gets a crush on Bill at some point. He's Bill. Who _hasn't_?"

Eddie nods, a small but serious bob of his head. "You're right. But still, anyone can tell how much Stan really likes him. Nobody can be _that_ oblivious."

The sentence makes him huff, part in amusement and part in disbelief. "Oh, you'd be shocked," he murmurs, turning his head slightly to look at Eddie better. If he turned even a hair more, their noses would bump. He tries to keep his breathing steady as a small wrinkle appears between Eddie's eyebrows. It was probably his tone, he thinks, too soft, too full of something unnameable. He always did this, toed the line like this, dropping hints, throwing out implications. Easy enough to back down from, which is what he usually did.

He gets ready to do it again, to pull a joke from the air and pretend the moment hadn't happened, when a pop like a gunshot startles them both so bad they knock heads.

"Ah, fuck, ow–"

"Ow, what the fuck–"

Richie rubs his head as he looks for the source of the noise. Mike is holding the remnants of a purple balloon in his hand. His eyes are big and apologetic. "Sorry, my bad."

"Why's your skull so damn hard?" Eddie complains. "It's not like there's a brain in there to protect."

"Tell that to my 4.0, dickwad."

They get into a shoving match on the hammock, trying to push each other out, until Bill says they'll break it again.

"I can settle this easy," Richie says, rolling on top of Eddie so he can't move.

"You fucking giant, you're going to crush me. Oh my god, I can't _breathe_."

Richie hums and doesn't move, pretending to settle down in comfort even with Eddie's bones diging into him in all the wrong places.

"You're literally like fucking bigfoot. I'm going to report you to Destination Truth." Eddie pries one of his hands loose and jabs him in the side until he finally gives in and rolls over.

From above, Ben's voice carries down, soft and surprised. "Oh, I think someone's here."

"I think you're right," Beverly says innocently as Bill rushes to distribute the confetti poppers and he and Eddie scramble into a sitting position.

When Ben finally comes down the ladder, they yell their collective surprise so loud that he yells back in fright. 

Once the fear fades, his face opens into a bright Hanscom trademarked smile and he hugs every single one of them with watery eyes.

The cake tastes delicious.

It's a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always you can come talk to me on [tumblr](vipertooth.tumblr.com) or send me prompts for ficlets to work on between longers wips 
> 
> thank you for reading, my ducklings 😘


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